


Topography Lessons

by baranduin



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-06
Updated: 2010-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:46:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baranduin/pseuds/baranduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the hobbit_smut community's "First Line" challenge in which I was given the line "You did what to your quill?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Topography Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Lorie945 for beta reading.

"You did _what_ to your quill?"

"Easy, Man of Gondor," Frodo said in his best stern voice as he climbed onto the bed and knelt by Faramir's side, pulling back the sheet. "You know it's time for your lesson."

The muffled sound might have been an obscure Numenorean oath and it might have been a groan, but the words weren't important for Faramir had begun to wriggle. Frodo laid one hand on his back and reached for his freshly-sharpened quill with the other, rolling it between his fingers before setting down on the bed within easy reach. "Remember what I told you the last time? It will go ill with you if you wiggle about too much."

At that, Faramir lifted his head from where it had been buried in his pillow and said, "And it will go ill with you, halfling, if you draw blood."

Frodo pushed Faramir's head back against the pillow, threading his fingers through his lover's hair and stroking his scalp with the tips of his fingers, pressing just so. When Faramir groaned, Frodo smiled and straddled the man's back. He said softly, "I don't believe you've had reason to complain before. And anyway, you must concentrate tonight for I will be testing you on our previous lessons. After all, we leave in a few days for the north and you must be prepared." Frodo tapped one finger on Faramir's back for emphasis, though of course he meant it in an encouraging manner. After a wordless grumble reached him, he added, "Though I expect we'll find time for a few lessons during the journey."

A brief laugh, the kind that reliably caused certain portions of Frodo's anatomy to lift and swell, told Frodo that his pupil was growing more amenable to the night's activities. And a good thing, too, for it was true that soon they would be leaving Minas Tirith and the lands familiar to Faramir, eager though he was to set out.

As Frodo scooted lower and perched on Faramir's nicely rounded bottom, he pulled off his nightshirt and tossed it to the foot of the bed. Wouldn't want it to get soiled, now would he? Plus it wasn't really very fair of him to be clothed when Faramir was not.

He took a moment to adjust to the cool air on his skin though he knew that the heat from Faramir's body would soon be more than enough to warm them both. It already was—how warm the backs of his thighs were growing and what a lovely cushion he had to sit on, one that provided just the right amount of support, firm yet yielding. An altogether excellent position from which to survey the landscape rolling out before him, all its hills and valleys and the occasional peak (not to mention freckle) open at once to his gaze.

"Oh, bother," Frodo said.

"What's wrong?" Faramir murmured.

"I forgot the oil."

"That won't do." Faramir reached over to the bedside table and handed it back to Frodo. He smiled at Frodo with that lazy tilt at the corners of his mouth, that particular and private curve which had the same reliable effect on Frodo that his laughter did.

For a moment, Frodo thought perhaps the lesson could be postponed. The warm and liquid heaviness between his thighs was pulling at his attention; Faramir's laughter had started it, but his smile and his naked body saw to its increase. But Frodo was nothing if not a slave to duty so he shook his mind (if not body) free and concentrated on the task at hand.

He uncorked the little earthenware flask and tipped its neck, pouring a thin stream of pale yellow oil down Faramir's spine. "Ah, that's got your attention," he murmured for Faramir shivered as the cool oil fell on his skin, pooling at the small of his back. "Don't worry, it'll warm soon."

To make sure it did, Frodo placed both hands on Faramir's back. With his fingers splayed, he spread the oil so that soon it formed a warm, slick surface, and then he slid back a little to ensure full coverage of Faramir's bottom since it wouldn't do to ignore such an important landmark.

"There," Frodo said as he surveyed his human manuscript and took a deep breath for he needed to test the aromatic reaction of this new oil upon Faramir's skin. Perfect. It had no scent of its own and Frodo breathed in the clean smell of beloved flesh. Rather like the finest freshly risen dough with an undertone of something earthier that always reminded him of mushrooms. "Ready for your lesson?"

"Oh, I don't think you've got it all spread evenly. Perhaps a little more?"

"Hmph. You won't get round me that way. I wasn't born yesterday."

But it did work since Frodo rather enjoyed having his hands on Faramir's skin. Truth to tell, he wasn't picky about which portion of Faramir's body, though each part had its own unique attractions, not to mention that breathing in rising dough always made him itch to form it with his hands. So back to work he went, each knead of his fingers eliciting a moan and a twitch of Faramir's hips. For some reason, every movement of Faramir's pulled an equal response from Frodo's hips.

Nevertheless, there was a lesson to be taught and tested, so after a few minutes Frodo stopped again and wiped his hands on the sheet. He held up his right hand and looked at his finger. Though he'd not thought of it before, the truth was that all these lessons, with the needed preparation of the ground of Faramir's back, was having a beneficial effect on his injury. The scarring wasn't as bright red as it had been, though Frodo suspected that probably had more to do with the passing of time. But the skin wasn't pulled so tight any more, and that was a relief to him.

"Do I get my lesson?" Faramir deliberately used the low voice that made Frodo want to abandon the lesson before it had even begun. Drat the man.

"You do indeed. I was woolgathering for a minute."

"Were you?"

"Mm hmm." Frodo picked up the quill and touched the point lightly just above the cleft of Faramir's bottom and drew it up the length of his spine, veering to the right up and over his shoulder blade. He was so delicate and deft in the flick of his wrist that only the barest tip of the pointed end scratched along Faramir's skin. Even so, the effect was instantaneous and loud.

"You'll be the death of me, hobbit," Faramir said in a growly voice as a shudder ran through him from the top of his head to the soles of his bald feet.

"But won't you enjoy it? Though if you keep wriggling around like that, I shall have to tie you up."

"You're still holding a grudge for what I did at Henneth Annun, aren't you?" Faramir tried to keep the teasing growl in his voice, but Frodo heard the plaintive strain creep in.

"Shall I stop, then?" Frodo held the quill poised above Faramir's shoulder blades, just low enough that when he blew out a puff of air, the feathers brushed against Faramir's skin. Oh, my. How quickly the goose flesh appeared, and what sharp angles Faramir's shoulder blades formed when he pushed up like that. Frodo approved of Faramir pushing up on general principle.

"Not much I can do about it, is there, now that you've caught me like a coney."

Taking that as a "Why, no, Frodo, please don't stop," Frodo settled in for the lesson.

"In that case, what did I draw?"

"What, the test comes first? That seems most unworthy of you. I would never spring such a thing upon my men without fair warning."

"Wouldn't you? You are a noble creature." Another tap on Faramir's back was needed, and Frodo rendered it with brisk efficiency before continuing. "But I'm the teacher here, and you've had several lessons already. This material is not new. Answer the question ... if you can."

A pronounced silence was all the answer Frodo received though he could practically hear Faramir sifting through all the possibilities. Probably rather embarrassing for him, too, considering his proven abilities and experience in Ithilien. Having an essentially merciful nature, Frodo drew the quill straight across Faramir's back just above his waist, or at least as straight as the sinuous undulations of Faramir's body would permit.

"Ah, I have that one! The East Road," Faramir said, turning his head to grin at Frodo. "Have I hit the mark?"

Frodo leaned forward and kissed him. It was just a quick one, such a light brushing thing of lips and tongues that they both gave a little sigh in unison when Frodo pulled back.

But lessons must be seen through to the end, so Frodo positioned his quill for another stroke. "Perhaps these will give you more clues to the first line." Before setting point to flesh, Frodo slid back again for he needed the complete expanse of Faramir's bottom to complete his lines accurately. Plus he had another question ready for Faramir and did not wish to be bucked off, especially considering that the last time he'd landed in a disgruntled heap on the floor.

Frodo drew two quick neat strokes, each one angled over the curve of Faramir's rump, each one beginning at that point where the first line and the East Road met and diverging from there. Faramir tensed. Well, after all Frodo had posed the same question before so he could understand well why the man had to gird himself for the ordeal.

Frodo swished the feathers back and forth between the angle formed by the new lines before insinuating it between the cleft of Faramir's cheeks.

"For pity's sake, Frodo! Give me some relief!"

Yes, Frodo had been wise to reposition himself at the tops of Faramir's thighs. "Very well," he said, continuing to stroke the landscape and at the same time enjoying the man's writhing against the sheets. Enjoying it very much indeed. "But what is it?"

"Nnggh ... farthing ... mmmph ..."

"Which one?"

What a nice contrast the quill's black feathers against Faramir's pale bottom made.

"SOUTH!"

Frodo raised the quill. "Very good though of course more than a little obvious, especially to one so learned in reading maps as you are."

How nicely Faramir panted.

"Would you like a reward?" Frodo asked. It was quite a good thing that the Shire's hills did not heave in such a manner, though he also thought it might be amusing to see the Sackville-Bagginses trying to keep to their feet under such conditions.

"Yes, please."

Such a polite man. Always happy to oblige him, Frodo scooted forward, just enough to slide the tip of his cock between Faramir's cheeks and wriggle it back and forth a bit. Just to keep himself warm. Not to mention hard. Deliciously, turgidly, gloriously, demandingly and most definitely increasingly hard. A satisfying groan from Faramir that, judging from a frantic circular grinding against the mattress, seemed to emanate directly from his sadly neglected cock reminded Frodo that this map continued on Faramir's chest.

But first another question or two, though Frodo set down the quill as these particular questions required the greater intimacy of flesh against flesh. Thumbs were needed, and thumbs were pressed into those two generous dimples just above Faramir's bottom. Oh, yes, the dough was well-risen indeed in this man.

Pressing harder with his left thumb, circling round and round, Frodo leaned forward, draping himself over the curve of Faramir's bottom and asking, "And this is?"

"Tuckborough," Faramir whispered, holding his body stock still.

"And this one?"

"Mmphghfhwhkjdhahhj ... Pincushion?"

"Certainly not. Pin-CUP is much too far to the west. Not to mention that it's in the South Farthing and your dimple is not. Try again. I shan't let you up until you get it right."

As good-natured as Faramir was, even he had a point beyond which his patience was overturned, and which, strangely enough, seemed to be related to the effect of rubbing his cock against the smooth sheets without any relief. Be that as it may, he raised up and twisted round to look Frodo in the eye. "Halfling, I am a patient man. However ..."

There was something about Faramir when he grew irritated that made Frodo's cock twitch and pulse. Seeing the little smile on Faramir's face quite convinced Frodo that the man had felt that and enjoyed it, though Frodo doubted that he'd admit it.

He said, "Well, it's a different sort of landmark. I'd say that's a stand of trees on the way to the Woody End."

Faramir raised his eyebrows. "How did I miss that one?"

Hm, time to regain the control. Quick as only a hobbit can be, Frodo dug his fingers into Faramir's ribs, whose response was rapid and violent. In no time, Faramir had twisted all the way round and Frodo lay prone on top of him, their parted cocks very obviously pleased at the reunion they were now having.

"Mm ..." Frodo murmured, his mouth muffled against Faramir's chest as he pressed his bottom down and Faramir pressed his up—and wasn't that just the best thing?. And oh, the hair that grew on the firm ground of Faramir's chest was soft soft soft against Frodo's cheek. "I wonder if I shall get lost again in the Old Forest."

Faramir pulled him up and nibbled his neck. "Do not worry. I shall find you if you do. After all, did I not find you in Ithilien?"

The only sound other than a duet of sighs and moans was the quill slipping off the bed and clattering on the floor, but neither of them heard it. Not many sounds penetrated the Bonfire Glade, where indeed they had found each other.

* * *

After such an excellent lesson, they were both so drowsy and limp that neither of them had the energy to pull up the covers. Frodo lay sprawled across Faramir, his head pillowed on his lover's shoulder and one leg thrown over his hips.

"What's this?" Faramir murmured.

"I don't know," Frodo murmured back.

"I do not believe I recognize this particular landmark. Do open your eyes, my love."

Frodo made the sacrifice and discovered what Faramir was considering—a milky pool filling Faramir's navel and spreading round it.

"Is there a pond of some sort in the Old Forest?" Faramir asked, paddling one finger in it.

"No, I don't think so," Frodo answered and yawned. Teaching was such exhausting if agreeable work. "Though there is a marsh just south of the Forest."

"Well, that can't be it, and really, Frodo, you shouldn't call your own seed a bog."

Frodo leaned up for a kiss, the long and lazy kind where mouths and tongues slide against each other and are sloppy and sweet and go on and on. When he lay back down again, he said in a musing sort of tone, "Yes, you're right about that and I think I have the answer, though it will mean a little more work for you tonight."

"Why am I not surprised? Tell me."

"It seems that the Withywindle has somehow become blocked. Perhaps beavers have been building a dam somewhere and Bombadil has not heard of it yet."

"Bombadil?"

Frodo chuckled. "I'll tell you about him once we're on the road. But for now, get to work. This river needs to be put back in its proper course."

Faramir dipped his finger in the little pool and then stopped. "I do not know the right direction."

"Of course you don't. I shall tell you."

And so he did, though the telling actually involved quite a lot of showing and was the better for it, though the showing led to kissing and the kissing led to rubbing and the rubbing led to ... Before they knew it, the Withywindle was mysteriously dammed up into a pool again.

But they didn't mind.


End file.
